Hap nodded. But even a glimpse of deep water pinched his heart with cold fingers.
The carriage rumbled through a tunnel in the outer wall. They veered onto a paved circle of stone and jerked to a stop. Dodd opened the door. “After you, Hap,” Umber said. He handed Hap a colorfully wrapped box. “Carry this for me, would you?”
Hap stepped outside. The hiss of falling water caught his ear, and he saw a fountain in the center of the courtyard. It was three tiers tall and populated with sculptures of sea-creatures that fired jets of water. “Does the Heartspring make that water go too?”
“Right you are,” Umber replied.
Around them a parade of carriages disgorged their passengers and rumbled away. Hap watched the giddy guests walk toward a tall open door. The men puffed their chests and the women tugged long dresses an inch off the ground. Hap found his head tilting up, up, and up again as his eyes followed the lofty lines of the palace, all the way to the illuminated face of the enormous clock.
“Careful you don’t fall over,” Umber said, stepping up beside him. “I’ve seen it happen.”
They went past a gauntlet of guards, up a wide set of stairs, and into a room that seemed as broad as the sea. Clusters of flowers hung on strings from the soaring ceiling, with petals fluttering down like snow. The chatter of hundreds of guests filled the air, and a pack of musicians in one corner added sprightly music. Servers buzzed among the crowd like bees with drinks and delicacies.
Umber attracted people the way lanterns drew moths, and soon was busy shaking hands and making conversation. Always he would introduce Hap, and always the person could not avoid staring at Hap’s strange green eyes. Hap felt his face turn red. He wished he’d found a way to stay back at the Aerie, or at least that Umber had allowed him to wear his hat.
During a lull in the onslaught of well-wishers, Umber positioned himself in front of Hap and spoke quietly out of one side of his mouth. “Best behavior now, Hap. You’re about to meet one of the princes.”
Hap looked over Umber’s shoulder and saw a broad-shouldered man approach. The man walked stiffly, hardly moving above the waist. His face was as cold and chiseled as a tombstone, with eyes turned down at the corners. His hair was thinning and tied back from his face, while his eyebrows grew wild. There was a silver cape draped over one of his shoulders.
“Prince Argent! How good to see you.” Umber lowered his head, spread his arms, and stuck one leg before him, with the heel on the ground and the toes pointing up. “And may I introduce my young friend, Happenstance?”
Hap performed an awkward copy of Umber’s bow. “Good evening, Your Highness,” he said. When he looked up again, the prince was staring at his eyes. Argent didn’t show surprise or unease like most, and a moment later he turned and spoke to Umber as if Hap were not there.
The prince did not bother with pleasantries. “We have things to discuss, Umber. First, I have reviewed your suggestion for what you call ‘fire departments’ stationed throughout the city. I think the idea has merit, and would like to see a more detailed proposal. Likewise with your tidal mills; building those on the coastline makes perfect sense.”
Umber dipped his forehead. “Absolutely, Your Highness.”
“Also, I saw the new device that you sent to the palace. Some sort of press for creating documents?”
“The movable-type printing press, Your Highness,” Umber said with an eager smile. “There are only two in the world right now—yours, and the one I will use to reproduce my books. It speeds the production of all manner of printed materials—more than two hundred pages in a single hour!”
Argent’s flinty expression never changed. “We are glad to have it for our proclamations. And I have no objection to you using such a thing for those books of yours. But is it true that you plan to make these movable … whatever you call them … widely available? So that anyone at all might be able to use one?”
“True, Your Highness. It will take time, but a press in every town is my goal. It’s for the good of the kingdom, I assure you. Consider what will happen when people throughout your land can share their ideas and—”
Argent abruptly raised a hand. “That is exactly what I am considering. You and I see the world with different eyes, Umber. You seem to think that every man, woman, and child ought to express himself and think freely. But that is not what people really want. They are content to live their humble lives and let the wisdom of kings and princes be their guiding light. Too many ideas flying about will only confuse them. And, incidentally, Umber, those wonderful presses of yours can print foolish and rebellious ideas just as easily as pragmatic and useful ones.” The prince’s voice had begun to rise, and he paused to temper himself. “I want their production stopped at once.”
Umber tried to maintain his smile, but he looked as if he’d taken a bite of something foul. “But really, Your Highness—”
“Another thing, Umber,” interrupted the prince. “Many months ago, my father asked you for suggestions to improve the kingdom’s defenses. We are still waiting for your response.”
Umber tugged at his collar. “I apologize, Your Highness. Unfortunately my talents don’t lie in the military direction.”
“Be careful that you don’t lie in any direction,” Argent said, as his expression darkened. “Come now, Umber. Don’t pretend there are limits to your inventiveness. Surely you know how to improve the reach of our catapults, the strength of our swords, the flight of our arrows. Don’t you care to ensure the safety of the nation that you’ve worked so hard to enrich?”
The thought made Umber’s mouth cinch tight. “My prince,” he replied, putting a hand over his heart. “Shouldn’t ingenuity be spent on higher purposes than a better way to maim or kill a man?”
“Not if that prevents the death of one of my people,” Argent said. He thrust his jaw forward. “We’ve allowed many of your innovations, Umber, and we are a stronger, happier kingdom for it. But there are rivals and warlords that look upon our prosperity with jealous hearts. And you are partly responsible, because all the good you’ve done has in fact made us a target. So the ‘military direction’ matters. I hope one day you will see the truth of that.”
There was a cascade of laughter nearby. Argent suddenly remembered that he was at a party. “One last thing, Umber,” the prince said, tugging at his clothes to straighten them. “Regarding this afternoon’s incident in the market: I hope this isn’t another case of you stirring up magical things that are best left alone.” He glanced in Hap’s direction, and Hap gulped by reflex.
“I apologize for the mayhem, Your Highness,” Umber said.
Argent replied with a single rapid nod, and strode stiffly away.
Umber seemed to exhale for a full minute. Hap heard him mutter something that he probably meant to think to himself. “Slow down, Umber. You’re pushing too far, too fast, and it scares them.” Umber looked around as if coming out of a daydream and shrugged toward Hap. “Don’t get the wrong idea, Happenstance. Prince Argent isn’t a bad fellow. He can be reasoned with, and he honestly cares about his people. But he lacks imagination. Trust me, though, there could be a worse successor to the king.”
“Is the king here tonight?” asked Hap.
“The king is very ill,” Umber replied. He scanned the crowd and scowled. “Where’s that waiter with the little sausages? I kept trying to wave him over….”
Hap noticed a man on the other side of the room who glanced Umber’s way every few moments. Another prince? Hap wondered. This fellow looked like a better groomed version of Prince Argent, with eyes and hair of chestnut brown. He wore a narrow crown with an emerald in its center, and a short green cape held by a golden clasp at his throat.
“Is that Prince Galbus by the fountain?” asked Hap.
When Umber looked that way, the man nodded. Umber smiled in return, but his mouth fell flat when he turned back to Hap. “No. That is Loden, the youngest prince. Third in line from the throne, and we should all be thankful for that.
”
“Why?” Hap asked, watching Prince Loden talk to a circle of admirers.
Umber whispered his reply. “Loden is a cunning, ambitious schemer with no scruples to speak of. But few people realize it because he is also endlessly charming. I intend to keep you as far from him as possible.”
“Oh,” said Hap. It was hard to imagine that the handsome man across the room was as bad as Umber believed. “Well, what is Prince Galbus like?”
A blast of horns dulled the chatter and laughter of the guests. All heads turned toward the musicians with their trumpets angled high. When the fanfare ended, a giddy fellow in garish clothes parted some nearby curtains and pranced into the hall. In one hand was a bowl-size goblet filled with red wine sloshing over the rim. He raised it to his lips and guzzled while applause erupted among the guests, and they began to shout his name: “Galbus! Galbus!”
The middle prince did a jig that caused his crown to fall off, and then stopped and raised the goblet high. He wobbled as he waited for the applause and laughter to fade, and finally spoke in a loud, unsteady voice. “My friends, my friends! Welcome and thank you for joining my celebration!”
Galbus was paler, blonder, and thinner than his brothers, and more boyish, with large eyes and red cheeks. Something about his manner—and the dark wine-stains all over his shirt and trousers—gave Hap the impression that Galbus was liable to say something outrageous.
“Before I begin to accept your presents—and you know how I love presents!—I would like to show you the gift I’ve gotten for myself.” A mischievous grin spread over Galbus’s face. The guests chuckled, and a breathless expectation filled the room. Hap saw Argent staring woodenly with his arms folded across his chest.
Galbus hiccupped, staggered, and went on. “I said to myself: ‘Myself, there is something your brothers have that you do not!’ And do you know what that is?”
“Oh dear, what’s he up to now?” Umber said quietly, barely moving his lips.
Galbus put a cupped hand beside his ear. “I said, people, do you know what that is?”
The guests shouted back. “No! Tell us, Your Highness! What is it?”
Galbus stumbled back, nearly falling. He heaved a dramatic sigh of relief. “My brothers have little armies all their own to keep their royal persons safe, and I do not! And so, I am proud to introduce my new royal guard!” He swept his hand toward the curtain at his back, which was yanked aside by an accomplice. From the corridor behind it raced two dozen pigs, all dressed in miniature versions of the uniforms that Argent and Loden’s guards wore, but with yellow capes. The pigs dashed into the crowd, squealing and slipping on the marble floor of the hall. The walls shook with the laughter of the guests, and Galbus roared with such gusto that he fell to his knees and his side, somehow managing not to spill the rest of his wine. In the chaos, Hap saw Prince Argent turn away in disgust and leave the room.
The party returned to some normalcy once the swine had been herded from the hall. Galbus gleefully accepted present after present, admiring each before handing it to a servant to whisk away. Finally the young prince spotted Umber across the room, and his mouth opened with delight. He raced over, careening off other guests along the way.
“Umber, dearest Umber!” he cried when he arrived, out of breath and with his crown askew. “I’m so glad you’re here, it wouldn’t have been a party without you!”
Umber repeated his formal bow. “Happy birthday, Your Highness. And may I introduce—”
“And look at you!” interrupted Galbus, grabbing Hap by the shoulders. “My stars, look at those eyes! You’re the boy everyone’s talking about!”
“I … I guess,” Hap said, wishing he’d left with the pigs.
Galbus’s breath smelled like wine. “Is it true that you can leap so high? I beg you, show me! Show us all!”
“Your Highness,” Umber said quickly, “what Hap did was out of panic, and he certainly could not reproduce the feat. Now, if I may—will you accept the first gift I’ve arranged for you this evening?”
“Of course!” cried Galbus, releasing Hap and clasping his hands together.
Umber looked at the musicians at the far end of the room. The conductor had been waiting expectantly for a signal that Umber finally provided: a tap of his nose with two fingers. The conductor nodded, suppressing a smile. He called out to the guests. “A gift for his majesty Prince Galbus: new music!” As the people rushed to complete their conversations, the conductor faced his musicians and lifted his arms. He stirred the air with his hands, the last whispers fell to silence, and the music began.
A cello spoke first, beginning so simply that some in the crowd gave one another secret shrugs as if to say “Is that all?” Then violins joined in, echoing the graceful tune. Hap saw heads turn so their ears might better receive the sound. The song grew in complexity and majesty, with the crowd so still that a painter might have set up his easel and captured the scene. Hap looked at Galbus, who stood with his hands pressed over his heart as if to keep it from dissolving. A truth occurred to him: Music was a kind of magic, capable of weaving a powerful spell.
Umber leaned near Hap’s ear and said quietly: “Would you believe that where I came from, this piece was so familiar that many found it trite?”
Just when the music reached the peak of its intricate beauty, the tune settled down again like birds drifting off to sleep. Each instrument fell still in turn. The final note left behind a hush so profound that not a breath could be heard.
It was so quiet for so long that the conductor glanced nervously over his shoulder, wondering if somehow they had failed to please. But every guest was smiling toward Galbus, who stood in a daze. The prince came out of his rapture with a gasp for air. He pried his hands apart and applauded madly, and the rest joined him until the claps and shouts built to a thunderous roar.
“Umber! Umber!” Galbus cried, seizing Umber’s hand and shaking his arm from wrist to shoulder. “The finest yet! Magnificent!”
“I dedicate that to you, my good prince, and while the composer is long gone, I’m sure he would be pleased that it found such a happy new audience,” Umber said.
“What is this piece? And who was this composer? I have to know his name!”
“That was the Canon in D Major, Your Highness. And the name you seek is Johann Pachelbel.” Umber waved to the conductor, and the musicians resumed the livelier waltz they’d played before. “I have one more gift for you, my friend. Will you have it now?”
Galbus’s eyes grew huge as his gaze found the gift that Hap was holding. The prince snatched the present and tore off the paper. There was a hinged box inside; he threw the latch and opened it. Hap recognized it as the same box that someone had handed Umber when they first arrived in Kurahaven, with the same long-necked orange bottle nested inside. Galbus giggled as he pulled the bottle from the straw. “Is this what I think it is?”
Umber nodded. “It is indeed. The effect will be delightful, but I recommend you use it outside, Your Highness. In fact, I strongly advise it.”
“Have no fear!” Galbus said, holding the bottle high. A trio of laughing women rushed up and tugged at Galbus’s arms, urging him to dance. “Duty calls, Umber!” Galbus cried, stuffing the gift inside his vest. He grinned at Hap. “But you, young man, I hope to see you soon. A visit must be arranged! I’ll show you the gardens, and the Heartspring, and the guts of the great clock that Umber designed for us! Would you like that?”
“Um … yes, Your Highness.”
“Then it shall be done!” Galbus giggled as the ladies dragged him into the crowd of dancers. For the moment, Hap and Umber stood alone.
“We should leave before long, Hap,” Umber said. “There’s still time for the hypnosis. The sooner we try that the better, I think. With luck your memory will return tonight.”
Hap nodded. He’d met enough new people for one day.
There was a thunderous explosion among the dancers, and a yellow cloud billowed toward the ceiling. People squeale
d like children and ran from a central spot on the floor, except for a few who fainted. As the crowd parted, Hap saw Galbus, bent over and clutching his stomach, howling with glee. Around him, phantom serpents made of smoke wriggled toward the fleeing guests. The illusion did not last long; the serpents were already losing their shape and dissipating.
Umber groaned. “In fact, we should leave right now.”
“Not an entirely successful evening,” Umber said, raising his voice over the clatter of the wheels. He pulled his leather-clad notebook from his pocket. “Better make a note about the printing presses. Wouldn’t want a furious royalty on my hands.”
“Did it bother you, what Prince Argent said about your presses?” asked Hap.
Umber’s eyebrows writhed as he considered the question, and then he grinned. “Not terribly. There’s one thing the good prince doesn’t understand: Once an idea is out and about, it can’t be called back, silenced, or erased. You can’t contain it, any more than you could put the head of a dandelion back together after the wind has scattered its seeds. People have seen the movable-type printing press now, in my print shop and in the palace. They know such a thing is possible. That makes it inevitable. And that is all that matters.”
CHAPTER
14
“I think we’ll attempt it right here,” Umber said. “It’s such a peaceful spot. Sit, Hap.”
They were back on the terrace atop the Aerie, under the tree of many fruits. Oates was with them for safekeeping, but Umber asked the big fellow to give them privacy, so he leaned against the balcony, out of earshot.
Warm air billowed, and hanging chimes played random melodies. The stars blazed with diamond brilliance overhead, though fingers of dark cloud had begun to reach across the sky from the north. Hap lay on the bench with his head propped on a pillow, and Umber sat on a stool beside him.
“Will this really help me remember?” Hap asked.
Happenstance Found (Books of Umber #1) Page 11